The Dream Charm
by tragicpoet54
Summary: What happens when Harry and Snape are plagued with insomnia?


Title: The Dream Charm

Genera: Hurt/comfort, ironic humor

Rating: PG, PG-13-ish

Warnings: slight out of character-ness caused by spell

Author's note: My first one.Mind the grammar/spelling.

Harry hadn't been sleeping—not surprising; it was his nature to be laden with problems. _Oh poor Potter_; Snape hated it, the way people treated him.

Snape loomed over a dozing shoulder, "Well, Mr. Potter," Harry awoke slowly, to an unpleasant voice. "Twenty points from Gryffindor," he breathed a hiss into Harry's ear, "Detention as well." Harry couldn't do anything but groan.

Harry was tired. Again. Detention wasn't the most appealing way to spend the next few hours. He knocked on Snape's dungeon door not with his fist, but with his head. The door opened and Harry fell into a black wall with a dull grunt.

"Wonderful," he gathered himself best he could. "Sorry, Professor."

"Potter—"

"Snape, look, I'm too tired to argue with you right now. Just tell me what I have to do so I can get back to lying awake for hours." Snape blinked.

"You're incompetent."

"What's new?"

_You're attitude, that's for sure_, thought Snape. He wished he had the energy to be more foul and unpleasant, but he didn't. Snape turned and Harry followed him. He was led down a long corridor of many doors and strange smells, Snape gliding far ahead of him. Whatever he was going to have to do, Harry had never been farther than the classroom, and maybe, Snape's office.

Again, Harry almost ran into Snape, who had stopped in front of a silver-enameled door.

"Is this your room?" Without turning around, Snape nodded. Something didn't seem right. First he didn't mind being run into, and now he was taking Harry to _his _bedroom.

Beyond the door, was a rather large and shadow-filled room adorned with only a couch, a wooden cabinet, and a beautiful black four-poster bed. Harry knew that Snape was indeed modest, settling year after dreary year for Potions master; he was surprisingly eloquent while handling things like toad warts and a variety of rotten mushrooms.

Snape walked over to the left side of the bed and pulled back the covers.

"Lie down."

"What! You want me to sleep with you? Have you gone mad?"

"As a matter of fact, Harry, the Professor is indeed mad. Rather at me than you." Dumbledoor stepped out of a shadowy corner; as if it was completely obvious he was there the entire time.

"Dumbledoor? What is going on?" said Harry.

"Let me explain. You haven't been sleeping. Neither has Severus—"

"So you want us to shag until we're exhausted!" Snape looked like if he had the ability to blush, he would.

"That is entirely up to you both, Mr. Potter, however, that is not my direct intention," he chuckled, "You and Professor Snape are very important to me, and insomnia has been getting in the way of both your welfare."

"And how is sleeping with Snape gonna help me? I don't want nightmares! I barely have dreams anymore!" Snape's eyes narrowed.

"That is exactly the problem. You see, Harry, Severus' sub-conscious has been overly active, so you could say he's been having too _many_ dreams, leaving him incapable of functioning in his usual manner."

"He's been fine, as far as I'm concerned," said Harry. "Haven't had detention in a month."

"Yes, Mr. Potter, and that, of course, damages me more than it does you," said Snape.

"Snape is loosing his strength of will, Harry."

"My potency, as some would say."

Harry wasn't following. So Snape's head was more whacked out than normal. "And how exactly is sleeping with me going to help?"

"You haven't been dreaming. Snape's been dreaming too much. So, with the help of a spell, your dreams can be shared." Dumbledoor said this with such a normalcy, as if this was common, and Harry shouldn't be so evasive.

"I'm going to be sharing Snape's dreams?" An interesting, if not disturbing, thought.

"Most of them you won't remember; the ones you do however, must be kept confidential," Dumbledoor said, with a matter of fact tone.

"And you agreed to this?" Harry asked Snape; looking over at him he stood, quite placidly, with a mild expression of disinterest on his face.

"I have no other option."

"Sleeping spells," Harry suggested.

"Unsafe if overused."

"Drink tea."

Snape scoffed, "Nonsense."

Exasperated, Harry threw up his arms, "Make a potion!"

"I've lost my ability to brew complicated mixtures."

Harry drew back, "What? Why?"

"Dreams are necessary, Harry, they keep us energized and stable. Too many results in emotional overload," said Dumbledoor. "So, as a result of unbalance, Severus is unstable and you are exhausted to the point where nothing matters. Am I right, Harry?" He peered down through his fitting spectacles.

Harry wasn't paying attention to Dumbledoor; he knew the old man was right, but that wasn't his main concern, "but—you hate me," that was just an excuse, and both Harry and Snape knew it. "How are you going to stand sleeping in the same bed with me? And why can't I just sleep on the floor?"

"As with many advanced spells, Harry, there is a manner in which the spell must be cast in order for it to work properly."

"Like what?"

"Severus will explain. But first, Harry, I need your agreement."

Harry thought. Hard. Sleeping with a man more than twice his age isn't what bothered him. He just felt that Snape was being pushed into this and wouldn't except it for what it really was: an opportunity…for something different from spiteful words thrown around during class.

He sighed. "Alright. It better work."

"Oh, it does. Severus has already done it once before."

"With who?"

Dumbledoor walked away toward the door, and as he opened it, "Your father."

Harry looked over at Snape, who was standing over the bed. He looked tired and…neurotic. His hair was its usual greasiness, but it looked thin and limp. His place face was splotted with red and his eyes were so sunken that Harry could barely see them.

"Are you going to make this difficult, Potter?" He said this with a weak surrender; Harry could hardly stand it.

Harry obeyed and climbed into bed. Snape got in next to him and took out his wand. Harry held his breath, waiting for some sort of strange incantation and a bright flash. Snape waved it first over himself, then Harry, and to complete it, simply tapped the headboard.

"And what is that supposed to do?"

"The bed has special charms placed upon it. I just have to register my partner for it to work."

Harry fumbled with the covers, which were surprisingly soft. "So, what's with my dad? Did that really happen?"

Snape tensed a bit, "Yes, it did."

"How? I mean, you're a Slytherin and he was in Gryffindor."

Hmm, an astute question. Snape was pleased. "We dueled and that stupid father of your used a curse far above his level. He cursed us both."

Harry would normally react to Snape calling his father stupid, but at the present moment, being in bed with him and all, he thought it not to be an advisable course of action. "What did the curse do?"

"He drained his sub-conscious of dreams and burdened me with them." So Snape had had James' dreams; Harry felt a little jealousy, not only had Snape known him, but he had the chance of something as intimate as sharing his dreams.

"That still doesn't explain how he could sleep with you."

_Cheeky boy, _"You have little patience, Potter. Sometimes I think—" Snape tried to continue his sentence, but was unable to.

"You think…?" Harry sat up and pondered Snape. He was being quite human, answering his questions, holding back constant insults, and actually bordering on being nice. Harry decided he liked this charm.

Snape sighed, his eyes closed, "Never you mind." Harry knew that Snape had lost his words; he was grateful.

"So we both were brought to the hospital wing and forced to share a bed with the same charm placed on it."

"That's all we have to do? Sleep in the same bed?"

Snape nodded.

"So I don't have to kiss you or anything?" he was getting brave, "That's too simple; it can't work…"

_Really. _Snape pulled Harry toward him and settled the boy's head under his chin, wrapping his arms around him. Snape sighed. Harry immediately felt relaxed, as if his head had been filled with sheep. He thought about counting them when Snape started talking: "It seems to be working," he paused, and Harry felt a slight change in him, he couldn't tell what it was or how he knew, he just did, "The unfortunate thing about this—bonding, it makes me…vulnerable and my feelings show themselves."

Harry's mind had checked out. If he had been coherent enough to understand what Snape was saying, he would have been surprised, if not relieved. But all he knew presently was that he felt safe and warm; those thoughts that disturbed him every time he looked at Snape didn't seem so wrong anymore. He tilted his head and nuzzled Snape's neck before lightly nibbling on his ear.

It took Snape a second to realize it, but when he did, "You should be falling asleep. You're not." Harry wriggled his shoulders to tell Snape that he was indeed awake, if just groggy.

Snape had an idea. He sat up, pushing Harry off of him. Harry looked up, slightly hurt and very cold. Snape brought his hand up and stroked his cheek with a slender finger, placating and reassuring the boy before grabbing Harry's shirt and pulling it off him.

Now Harry was really cold. He let himself admit that Snape wasn't all that bad to look at when he wasn't scowling. Snape removed his own shirt, button by button. _Now that won't work,_ thought Harry, _how is he gonna keep me warm if he's cold? _ Harry just stared dreamily at him and Snape sighed.

"Those eyes have always hypnotized me."

Harry suddenly felt the need to be in Snape's arms and crawled toward him, but Snape stopped him, "Be patient, Potter."

Harry's expression was just screaming _WHY!_

"I am."

Then in dawned on Harry: he was wanting Snape in an entirely different way from usual. It was rather strange, at first, because it was actually enjoyable; if only he could just get warm.

Snape laid down, pulling Harry, drowsy and giddy, with him.

"When did you become so soft?" Harry said as he rubbed his cheek on Snape's bare chest.

"I don't exactly parade my bare back around the dungeons, Potter."

Harry shrugged, "big shame."

Snape's lips smiled briefly, "You should be falling asleep soon. You'll be sharing my dreams once I fall asleep."

Harry grunted in response. Snape dragged his fingertips along Harry's back, and felt a smooth relief grip his mind as he shut his eyes and fell asleep.

Harry was sitting at the bottom of a giant cauldron. There was a strange haze around him and he felt someone watching him. He stood up and thought the floor had dropped away, but he was just suspended—floating above the bottom; his bare feet brushing the rusty cauldron. He tried to walk forward, but wasn't able to. She he thought of the air as a he would his broom, and off he went, slowly.

Odd noises rang through the air as he dragged along faster. Howling, moaning, barking, screaming even, came from somewhere Harry could not see. Maybe this was inside Snape's mind--scary place.

There was a small circle of light ahead of him and in the center of it, was Snape. He looked so…helpless. His arms were wrapped around his legs limply and he let off an exasperated air. He looked so weak and hopeless, so un-Snape-ish and depressed. Harry came up to him, peering down; he couldn't help but feel something for him; not pity---more like a longing to help him. Harry knew he could do little, but maybe by just seeing him in a different light, things would be better—a naïve thought. So Harry wrapped his arms around Snape, and in attempt to comfort him, kissed his forehead.

The real Snape opened his eyes and found Harry's emerald ones gazing back.

"Do you…remember?" managed Snape.

Harry nodded. His view of Snape had completely changed. Harry hoped that Snape would realize it.

"It will be another burden," Snape said this quite reluctantly, expecting some sort of rejection.

Harry nuzzled Snape's neck in response, always more prone to express himself through action; Snape admired that. Harry had always known he had feelings for Snape, intense ones, that had before only manifested as hatred. Snape, however, had never seemed to act on any of his feelings, but Harry knew he had some. Looking back, Harry saw the signs: the attention, although negative, was extreme, and the lingering touches, piercing glances, the husky voice.

Snape brought Harry to a more comfortable position so he could run his fingers through Harry's soft hair. He couldn't deny that he did not, even before the dream charm, hate Harry. On the contrary, he had come to like him, if just a small bit. After the tri-wizard tournament, Snape realized that Harry did not want his fame, and would choose anything but to have it rubbed in his face.

It was second nature to Harry to accept someone on this level, but for Snape it was a big deal. The dream had connected their minds so words were unnecessary, making it easier for what they both wanted: a silent agreement. Nothing too elaborate, just a joined understanding that they shared a mutual care, and would always. Harry lifted his head and brushed his lips against Snape's cheek, asking. Snape knew that Harry was rash, and not thinking about what a future with him would be like; perhaps he would learn. For now, Snape nodded and squeezed Harry tight. The boy smiled and knew their love was mutual, and could silence the screams.


End file.
